


in my party dress (i'm a mess)

by noctiphany



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bratting, Consensual Kink, Crossdressing, Degradation, Felching, Forced Feminization, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 15:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: He hates it. Hates the way he sounds, the way it makes him feel weak and powerless, like nothing but an object for Otabek to toy with. He hates it. And he fucking loves it.





	in my party dress (i'm a mess)

**Author's Note:**

> -yeah idk why i'm writing yoi fic in 2019 either  
\- many uses of the word wh*ore, if that makes you upset/uncomfortable, avoid. <3  
\- _kiska_ : kitten  
\- kink is pre-negotiated offscreen, everything is consensual, Otabek loves him to pieces, etc etc etc

“Get off it,” Yuri says, angrily crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “I am not wearing that.” 

“Yes.”

Yuri narrows his eyes at Otabek, glances back at the dress hanging the door, the price tag still dangling from the sleeve. Yuri doesn’t even know where he even got that much money. Subconsciously, he reaches out and touches the fabric, cool and silky between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I’ll look like a fucking _ whore_,” he says, glancing down at the four-inch black stilettos on the ground beneath the dress. They’re in his size, because of course they are. Otabek knows every intimate detail about him now. 

“Yes.”

On the inside, fire and rage boil inside of Yuri. In this moment, he hates Otabek. He hates the way he’s just sitting at his desk, clicking through emails and paying him no attention. He hates that Otabek’s so fucking _ confident _ that Yuri’s just going to do whatever he asks of him. He _ hates _ how hard he is already, just thinking of it. Still, he’s thinking about picking one of the stilettos up and stabbing Otabek in the throat with it when finally, Otabek spins around in his chair and gives him a hint of a smile.

Crooks his finger.

Pats his knee. 

“Come here, Yura.” 

Yuri goes to Otabek as if he has no other choice in the matter. He sits astride Otabek’s lap and loops one arm around his neck to steady himself, tries not to shiver when Otabek’s hand slides up his thigh. 

“You’re going to wear it,” Otabek says, voice slow and sweet like honey. “Because I bought it for you. Isn’t that right, Yura?”

Yuri feels the urge to argue bubble up inside of him. He knows what Otabek is trying to say. He knows what he wants _ Yuri _to say, to admit to. Yuri won’t do it. He won’t. If Otabek wants to hear it so bad he’ll have to _make_ him say it. 

Otabek chuckles softly when he sees Yuri’s lips tighten into a fine line. 

“_Kiska,_” he says, tucking a strand of pale hair behind Yuri’s ear. Yuri nearly shows his teeth at the pet name. “Don’t you want to look pretty for me?”

Yuri breathes out through his nose. He tries to remain still when Otabek leans in and nuzzles his cheek, kisses the sharp line of his jaw and moves to his earlobe. 

“I just want to show off my babygirl,” Otabek murmurs, sliding his hand higher up Yuri’s thigh, brushing his knuckles over the hard cock trapped in the leggings he’d been wearing to practice in. “Don’t you want to show everyone who you belong to?” 

“F-fuck you,” Yuri says, but it doesn’t come out quite as sharp and vitriolic as he’d meant it to. His breath hitches in the middle when Otabek presses the heel of his hand against him, so it comes out more breathless than anything. 

“Yes,” Otabek murmurs against Yuri’s throat this time. “Yes, I think I will. I think I’ll fuck my pretty little whore before I go out and show you off.” 

Oh _fuck. _ Yuri tries to squirm away from Otabek’s hand. It’s too much. He’s so damn hard and it’s just too _ much. _

“I think I’ll bend you over this desk just like this, fuck you until I fill you up, then finger your slutty little hole until it starts to drip out of you and down your thighs. Then, my sweet Yura, I will dress you. I’ll help you get into the beautiful dress I bought for you. I will clasp the expensive necklace I bought around your delicate neck. I will bow down and slip your dainty, precious feet into the shoes I have for you, kissing each toe as I fasten the straps on them for you. And do you know what we will do after that?_"_

Yuri’s already such a fucking mess. He’s leaking through his leggings and Otabek has barely touched him. It doesn’t have anything to do with being touched though. It hardly ever does. 

“Beka,” he whines, pleading with him. He hates it. Hates the way he sounds, the way it makes him feel weak and powerless, like nothing but an object for Otabek to toy with. He hates it. And god, he fucking loves it. 

“Ah, there’s my girl,” Otabek smiles, pushing Yuri’s hair out of his face to get a good look at how much of a mess he is already. “Why don’t _ you _tell me, Yura. Can you do that for me, princess? Tell me what I’m going to do to you tonight.”

Yuri trembles, and when he speaks, his voice shakes. “Show me off,” he says, twisting his fist in Otabek’s shirt, like he needs _ something _to ground him here. “Show...everyone that I’m yours.” 

“Mm,” Beka smiles, brushing his thumb over Yuri’s mouth. “That you’re my what, Yura?” 

“_Beka," _Yuri whines, face red hot, burning with shame. He tries to curl in against Otabek’s body and hide, but Otabek won’t let him. 

“Say it,” Otabek says, and his voice has suddenly dropped an octave, making Yuri’s cock twitch in his pants. “You know you have to.”

Yuri’s does. He knows. He remembers what happens to bad little girls who don’t do as they’re told. He still has the bruises on his ass and the back of his thighs from it. He still gets hard every time he sees that belt in the closet. 

“Your whore,” Yuri breathes out, body shuddering as the words leave his lips. “Your property.”

“Yes,” Otabek nearly growls, lifting Yuri out of his lap and turning him around, yanking Yuri’s leggings down to his knees, fingers searching for his hole and finding it already loose and slick with lube. “Always ready for my cock, aren’t you, whore?” 

“Yes, Beka,” Yuri groans, face smashed into the desk, Otabek’s hand on the back of his neck, keeping him there. “That’s how you want me. So you can bend me over and take me anytime you want.” 

“Fucking right,” Otabek growls, snapping his hips and thrusting his cock into Yuri in one swift motion, drawing a scream from Yuri’s lips. “Because that’s all you are to me, princess. Just a hole for me to fuck.” 

Yuri moans, high and shameless, gripping the edge of the computer desk. He’s begging, he thinks. He's probably not even coherent at this point. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Hold yourself open for me,” Otabek demands, pulling on Yuri’s arms until they’re behind his back, so Yuri can grab each cheek and hold himself open. It’s filthy and humiliating, being made to do something like this, exposing every part of him, and his face feels like it’s going to catch fire from humiliation. 

“Look at that greedy hole,” Otabek rumbles. He has one hand in Yuri’s hair now, yanking his head back a little, but he’s not touching him anywhere else, just thrusting his hips as he watches his cock slip in and out of Yuri. “So hungry for cock all the time. Doesn’t even matter who’s cock, does it, you filthy slut? You’d take any cock at all, wouldn’t you, as long as they filled you up. Who’s cock do you want next, huh? You want Victor’s? You want Katsuke’s cock stretching your pretty, slutty hole open?” 

“_No_,” Yuri shouts brokenly, a trembling, sobbing mess now. He can taste the tears as they run down his hot cheeks. “Beka, please, _ no._ I don’t. Don't want anyone else. You own me. I’m your whore, your hole to fuck whenever you want. That’s all I am, Beka. I’m just a hole, just a dirty, filthy whore. It’s all I am, it’s all I want to be, Beka, I just want to be your --”

_ Yours. I just want to be yours. _

Yuri’s body is heavy with how hard he’s sobbing now, arms still stretched back, spreading himself wide for Otabek. He feels like if Beka doesn’t hold him down he’s going to float away. He needs him to shove his head back down on the desk, needs him to grip his hips and pound into him, fuck him raw, make it _ hurt. _He needs something, anything, to keep him here, in the moment, here with Beka. 

“Fuck,” he hears Otabek grunt, then is vaguely aware of the warmth filling him up inside, and after, just as promised, he feels Otabek’s fingers slipping into him where his cock had just been. They slide in so easily it’s embarrassing, and Yuri can hear the filthy squelching noises they make inside of him as Otabek fingers him open, but then Otabek replaces his fingers with his mouth, his tongue. Instead of following up on his promise to make Yuri go out later in his new, expensive dress with come dripping down his legs, Otabek is eating it out of him instead. 

It’s too much for Yuri to hold on and stay grounded any longer. He goes pliant and slack against the desk and just lets Otabek hold him up by the grip he has on his hips. He drifts into that soft, hazy space as Otabek moans against his hole and sucks the come out of him, making him clean again. Then he turns Yuri around and Yuri sobs again when he feels Otabek’s mouth on him, so soft and wet and warm, so good. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve this, being treated like this. He doesn’t deserve Otabek, but he wants to. God, he wants to. 

“Yura,” Otabek says, his voice hoarse, but soft, like before, as he looks up at him, pressing a kiss to the inside of Yuri’s hip. “Will you come for me, baby?” 

And when he puts his mouth back on Yuri, Yuri finally lets go. 

  


: : : 

  


“I thought you were going to make me go out like that,” Yuri says a few hours later, holding the small, leopard print clutch in his hand as they walk together to Otabek’s car, minding the heels on the uneven pavement.

Otabek just looks at him and lifts an eyebrow, as if he doesn’t know what Yuri’s talking about, and Yuri’s cheeks flush with color.

“You know,” he mutters under his breath. “Dirty.” 

Otabek just smiles, opening the passenger door for Yuri once they reach the car.

“I was never going to do that, Yura,” Otabek leans in and kisses his cheek, hand on the small of Yuri’s back. “I take good care of my things.”

Yuri hides a smile behind his hair as he slides into the front seat. He knows.

He knows Beka does. 


End file.
